


Marlboro

by immistermercury



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: (it's bottom!freddie in case you were concerned), 70s, M/M, Smut, freddie gets far too excited when somebody pays him attention, freddie takes jim back to london, it's underage but not like that bad the youngest character is 16, jim is a groupie and proud of it, set around a night at the opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-10-30 08:59:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17825768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/immistermercury/pseuds/immistermercury
Summary: It had taken months; months of trying to be in the right place at the right time, of hanging around his usual London jaunts, outside gig venues. It had taken months of waiting, playing the right games, keeping up with the news to know where he was going to be next. He'd returned home defeated, but he couldn't stop himself from trying once more when he heard that Queen were to play in Dublin.Despite all the trying, Jim still doesn't remember how he's ended up in an armchair at one of Freddie Mercury's legendary parties, with the man himself in his lap.ORJim is a groupie, and he won't take no for an answer.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Lily? Writing another prologue? Unbelievable. 
> 
> Outrageous is about to finish and I can't just give up on 70s Jimercury so here we go! This is very very (very) loosely based on Almost Famous if you've seen it.

The light was low, the air filled with smoke; the cigarette was burning between his own lips, but it was in another set of fingers. Jim smiled lazily, his fingers finding warm skin beneath them and squeezing lightly. He couldn’t quite remember how he’d gotten in here, and especially not how he’d ended up with a lap full of Freddie Mercury, but he didn’t mind. The room around them was busy, drinks and drugs moving easily from person to person; he held a glass of vodka in one hand. 

 

Freddie was laughing as he tried to pull the cigarette from Jim’s lips. “Darling!” He insisted, cupping Jim’s cheek with one hand. “You simply have to tell me your name. I have to know you.” He implored, grinning with satisfaction as the cigarette came away from cherry-red lips. 

 

“Absolutely not, Mr. Mercury.” Jim smiled in response. “I’m not rock’n’roll enough.” He gripped Freddie’s waist as he shifted, the older man straddling his hips. 

 

“You’re deplorable.” Freddie leaned closer, gripping Jim’s jaw. “Is that why I always see you hanging around stage doors, hm?” He tilted his chin up carefully. The room was buzzing with energy around them, the party well into its swing by now, but Freddie wasn’t perturbed as he leaned in to kiss him. Jim ran a hand up to his hair as they kissed; there was a buzz of power rushing through his veins. It had taken months of trying to get Freddie’s attention.

 

Freddie took deep satisfaction in seeing the young man below him chase after his kiss. “This was what you wanted?” He said, his voice low. “You wanted to be a groupie, to be taken all over the world?” He ran a thumb over Jim’s lower lip. “I can give you that.”

 

Jim kissed the pad of his thumb slowly. “Big promises.” He said quietly, his other hand resting on Freddie’s waist. “You’ve worked hard enough.” Freddie smirked, pushing Jim’s hair back lightly. “But there’s one more thing you need to do.” He leaned closer, barely brushing their lips together. “Tell me your name, sweetheart.”

 

“Never.” Jim grinned against his lips before catching him in another kiss. “You’ll have to name me yourself.” He gripped Freddie’s hair tighter: he felt his breath falter, watched his eyes flutter slightly. 

 

“Name you myself?” Freddie smirked, running his hands down Jim’s chest. “You do spoil me. I’ll call you Lauren.” He took Jim’s drink and downed it quickly, noticing the way that Jim’s eyes followed the movement of his throat.

 

Jim licked his lips a little. “Lauren?” He responded after a belated pause. “I look like a Lauren?” Freddie shrugged and grinned. “I’m Melina, Brian is Maggie, Rog is Liz, John is Belisha, you’re Lauren.”

 

Jim leaned up to kiss him again, relishing how easily he seemed to be getting the attention of the singer. He heard the sound of glass smashing and pulled away from him slightly, watching Freddie’s face for any hint of annoyance. “I think they’re breaking your glasses, baby.” He murmured. Freddie arched his eyebrow at the name, leaning closer to Jim; he rested both of his hands on his chest, barely centimetres away from him.

 

“What did you just call me?” Freddie asked, a Cheshire-cat smile on his lips. “You are getting far too comfortable, my darling.” He said teasingly. The way that Jim gripped his hip bones made him shiver. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

 

Jim let himself sink back amongst the cushions as Freddie pushed him back into the chair. “Who says I won’t keep them?” He asked softly. They were speaking in code, but he’d expected it: Freddie Mercury was an enigma, and he wasn’t about to change for Jim. 

 

“You’re a groupie, darling.” Freddie said; Jim hated the patronising tone of his voice. “I don’t trust that you’ve got nice clean morals. I’m sure the Daily Mail would pay thousands for your story.”

 

Jim grabbed Freddie by the back of the neck, pulling him into another kiss. “Just because I’m a groupie, doesn’t mean I’m a slut.” He murmured against his lips. He noticed the way that Freddie’s breath seemed to falter, the way his lips parted so easily when Jim deepened the kiss. Freddie was like wax in his hands, so easy to mould and to move, so smooth. “If I were interested in a story, I’d have you on your knees by now.”

 

“Fuck.” Freddie murmured, grabbing onto Jim’s collar. “Don’t think that you can just use me in any which way you please.” He murmured warningly. He pushed Jim away firmly, regaining his control. “Don’t think that you can just throw my coat over the window and then everything will be fine. Don’t think you can just slip out the window tomorrow morning.”

 

Jim grinned and sat back. “You promised me all over the world. Why would I leave tomorrow morning?” He reached his hand up to tuck Freddie’s hair from his face. “If you get me out of Ireland, I’ll do anything you want.”

 

A spark of challenge ignited Freddie’s face, enlivened him with passion. “You’ve missed the European tour.” He said, surprisingly matter-of-fact for how drunk he was. “So I’ll have to take you back to London. Kensington. How does that sound?”

 

“Perfect.” He said immediately, leaning up to kiss Freddie again. Freddie pushed him back down, smirking at how helpless Jim looked beneath him. “You know, the groupies usually go for Roger.” He mused, sliding his hands underneath Jim’s shirt.

 

“You think he’d bottom for me?” Jim asked with a smirk, and Freddie groaned. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you.” He purred, pinning Jim’s wrist down when he tried to move his arm. “You’re not going to know what’s hit you.”

 

“Then tell me.” Jim grinned; his cheeks were flushing, betraying a strange combination of arousal and nervous excitement.

 

“You and I, we’re going to be the life of the party.” He told him. “I’m going to show you things you never thought you’d see in London. I’ll show you grace.” He trailed a hand through Jim’s hair. “I’ll show you debauchery.” His voice dropped. “I’ll show you the places that’ll change your world.” He kissed him again then, slow and deep, pinning Jim completely beneath him. 

 

He was interrupted by a tapping on his shoulder; Roger was standing beside them, looking over them distastefully. Freddie glanced up and smirked, taking Roger’s drink. “Thanks, darling.” He said playfully, shooting him a wink. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Who’s this?” Roger asked, signalling at Jim. “This!” Freddie grinned as he stood up. “This is Lauren, my dear.” He was unsteady on his feet: Roger steadied him with a hand on his lower back. “The newest member of the team.”

 

Roger took one look at Jim, rolled his eyes and then glanced back at Freddie. “You’re being ridiculous.” He tried to sound firm, but he couldn’t help the fondness that slipped into his voice. “You can’t just pick up a student.” He chastised him, trying to move Freddie away. 

 

“I am not being ridiculous!” Freddie shook Roger’s arm away from him. “He’s coming to London with us.” The resolute tone of Freddie’s voice was a surprise to Roger, who found himself grinning. “We’ll see what you’re saying tomorrow morning.” Roger smirked as he turned away, easily slipping into the crowd of people dancing. 

 

“Arsehole!” Freddie shouted after him. He faltered again, tripped, and fell directly into the arms of Jim who was standing just behind him. He took the opportunity to turn around and wrap his arms around Jim’s neck. “Now, my darling, where were we?”


	2. House Lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The energy of the crowd stays long after the people themselves have disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at me, finally updating Marlboro! This comes a few weeks after the prologue, and mostly just establishes their relationships before we get into the plot (this fic will have a plot, don't worry, I know it seems super fluffy right now but we are just establishing them before we launch right in!). For reference, Freddie is 26 while Jim is 16.
> 
> Also - over 20 people subscribed to this fic before I'd even published the first proper chapter? You have so much faith in me based off the back of a prologue and I love you all!

Jim could still feel the rush of adrenaline through his veins as he walked over the stage. His socks were silent as he slipped around playfully, a bright and beaming smile on his face; he savoured the time after a show, when the band were all getting washed and changed backstage and he could bask in the glory of their performance.

 

He picked up an abandoned rose, petals the purest white, pinkening around the edges. The fragrance filled his nose, made him feel dizzy with the strength of its scent. It had been thrown for Freddie, he was sure, and something in him wanted to twist Freddie’s hair into a lazy braid and pin the flower at the nape of his neck. He ran the pad of his thumb over a thorn, the sensation tickling over each and every nerve ending.

 

He started to dance lazily, twisting and turning over the expanse of the stage, his favourite melody of the evening still repeating itself within his mind. He had always wondered how Freddie had managed to command the stage, how he had the confidence to choose exactly where to stand, exactly who to sing to, exactly when to intrigue the audience with an impromptu call-and-answer session. He hummed softly as he twirled under the house lights, the soft gold complementing the warmth of the night and the leftover energy of the audience in the room.

 

Dublin was such a tiring place. These moments were so few and far between; it was so rare that the combination of his favourite things would light up that sensation in him, that feeling of living, of loving, of being genuinely grateful of every breath that entered and escaped his body. Meeting Freddie, touching Freddie, kissing Freddie, had all sparked that feeling in him. 

 

He stretched out and twirled around, unable to wipe the smile from his face. The thorns, the rough staging underfoot, the energy of the crowd, the warmth of the night, the softness of the rose petals as he let them brush over his cheek: everything reminded him of his lover.

 

He glanced down at the pass that sat around his neck, that name emblazoned across the front of it: ‘Lauren’, in Freddie’s handwriting. The heart drawn next to it was coloured in red.

 

The champagne made him giggle as he drew pictures in the confetti underfoot, twirling the rose around in one hand. He wondered if he could ever get used to this, get used to backstage passes and crowded dressing rooms and stolen kisses and that ever-present energy that Freddie gifted to everyone in the room. The energy prickled under his skin, made him want to sing and dance and find the man he loved and drag him out of the shower so that he could kiss the warmth of his pulse points.

 

Strong arms wrapped around his waist from behind and he turned his head instinctively. His lips were captured in the sweetest kiss, so chaste, so unusual for Freddie Mercury. His lover smelled of that raspberry body wash that he insisted was a show necessity, mixed with the faintest hint of washing powder. Jim was almost certain that he could smell some of his own cologne on Freddie’s jawline.

 

“Good evening, handsome.” Freddie said softly, but Jim pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him instantaneously. Freddie grinned, but he let himself be quietened. Jim turned around in his arms and placed his hands on Freddie’s waist, the other’s arms twining around the back of his neck, pulling him in closer.

 

He wasn’t sure where the desire to dance had originated from, but he moved so naturally with Freddie. He felt so lucky to have these rare moments with a man that the world never saw, a man that had produced a façade so daring and so dashing that few could realise that there was a sweetness underneath.

 

Freddie was the sweetest caramel. He had a hard shell, sickly sweet to taste, but he had the most gorgeous richness, the most delectable smoothness once somebody dared to take a bite. 

 

The two men moved together over the stage, twirling around together, both sets of steps so out of time yet so connected. Jim’s mood was infectious for Freddie, filling him completely with a sated calm that warmed him inside; Freddie vibrated with an energy that demanded every fibre of Jim’s attention.

 

Freddie cupped Jim’s cheek and pulled him into another kiss. The world was shielded from them, Jim was sure; nothing could exist outside of that room for that moment, nothing else could possibly taint the perfection of Freddie’s fingers intertwined with his own.

 

“You look so beautiful.” Freddie said softly, lifting Jim’s knuckles to his lips. It was so incredible to watch somebody so appreciative of what you do, someone who knew the words to every song, who watched with an absent curiosity when somebody began a riff, who would hum along the harmonies that not even Freddie himself could remember. Those three words danced along his tongue, but he swallowed them down again; he’d always been one for moving too quickly.

 

Jim smiled and kissed Freddie’s nose. “I can’t wait to go home.” He admitted; he’d taken to calling Kensington home, although he’d never been. It filled Freddie’s smile with a familiar warmth, that same passion that made him forget to be self-conscious, forget to cover his teeth with quick lips or the palm of his hand. 

 

“I can’t wait for you to come home.” Freddie whispered in response. “The house is too cold without you there.”

 

He pictured legs tangled with his in silk sheets, morning coffees to share in bed, somebody to take with him when recording sessions peaked in stress. He wanted to look after him, and to be looked after, to have somebody whose day he could be interested in, and who would be interested in his in return. He pictured having somebody to kiss him before he went onstage at the Rainbow, to powder his nose before a press conference, to soothe his nerves before a big performance.

 

Jim imagined a space where he could be himself unequivocally. A house where he could wear whatever he wanted, say whatever he wanted, do whatever he wanted. He pictured drinking tea in the garden late at night, sneaking another pet into the house and hoping that Freddie wouldn’t notice another furry face, washing his lover’s hair when he was too tired to stand. Kensington provided him so many possibilities, the opportunity to become one of the best in his trade without it being denounced as a female occupation, or for being ridiculed as the plight of a gay man. The idea of having a flatmate that he could fool around with, even if they were never official, excited him.

 

Freddie twirled him around, and the resounding laugh in his ears was gorgeous. Jim was so young, so untainted by life, so loving and open and trusting and kind and beautiful. Something about him kept those own emotions alive in Freddie, though he knew that they should’ve been dampened by a career in music, by having his sexuality sold as news, by the myriad of faces over the years that wanted to use him to further their own prospects.

 

Fingers wound a piece of Freddie’s hair around the stem of the rose, fixing it ever-so-carefully in his hair. The smile of the boy opposite him was inalienable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last 48 hours I've written four essays and half a major paper (and I rewarded myself by writing? who am I) so apologies that this may not be the best thing I've ever produced by I thought it was cute so hey.


	3. Legalities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea is a celebratory drink, and secrets are shared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M UPDATING SOMETHING WHICH ISN'T FLUORESCENT WHAT'S GOING ON there's like 30 of you subscribed to this and you really deserve better honestly  
> I just checked and there's 40 of you subscribed to this fic what is wrong with you it's like 4000 words and there's currently no plot (It's coming! I promise!)
> 
> Correction to an earlier note: in this fic, Jim is 16 (hence the underage warning - technically, at the time, he be illegal) and Freddie is 26 because apparently, I can't write something if there isn't a crazy age gap

The arm around his waist was warm, comforting, familiar. He snuggled into it as they walked together, enjoying the warmth of the London air against his skin. He felt a childlike excitement rise in his bones as they walked slowly down the streets of central London, tangled up in each other, drunk on aeroplane champagne and their happiness to be home. 

 

Jim glanced over the street signs and grinned to himself. “Royal London Borough of Kensington and Chelsea.” He murmured softly; Freddie pressed a kiss to his temple. They wandered past the Earl’s Court station and Freddie steered him down a little road, into a beautiful little courtyard of bright grass and trees heavy with leaves and little bursts of flowers amongst the grass. 

 

“This is Earl’s Court Square, darling, and this is us.” Freddie murmured and grinned at the look on Jim’s face. “We’re number thirty-seven, penthouse.” He opened the big doors, shiny with fresh paint, and took Jim up the stairs. Freddie pressed him against the wall halfway up, kissing him heatedly, smirking at the flush on Jim’s cheeks. “Just so you’ll remember it every time.” He purred and walked away.

 

Maybe he didn’t know what he was expecting as Freddie opened up the doors to their new home; maybe he was expecting to be thrown on the bed and ravished straight away, or momentary awkwardness. What he wasn’t expecting was a loud meow and Freddie to drop to his knees straight away. “Darlings!” He said excitedly.

 

Jim was laughing before he realised, kneeling beside Freddie. “You never told me we had friends.” He teased and kissed his cheek; Freddie shot him a wink. 

 

“Hope you’re not allergic.” He said playfully. “Because we have five friends, and you’ll be picking hair off your shirts until the end of time.” He pointed to each cat in turn. “Tom, Jerry, Oscar, Tiffany and Goliath.”

 

“There’s definitely a gender bias in this household.” Jim reached out to pet the black one, met with a little nose curiously sniffing his fingers. “Poor Tiffany. I’m surprised she can handle the testosterone.” 

 

Freddie laughed and picked up Tiffany, carrying her into the kitchen. “She loves the attention. She can afford to be the most affectionate.” He went for the kettle and then paused. “I’m heading straight for the domestic, my darling, and I haven’t even considered celebratory drinks. Which would you prefer?”

 

“No one said that tea couldn’t be a celebratory drink.” He replied, smile wide but a little bashful as he stood by the window. “It’s so beautiful here.”

 

“My kind of man.” Freddie replied, flicking the switch and then wrapping an arm around his waist. “I had my eye on this place for a very long time before I got the lease. You wouldn’t believe how much they fussed about my wanting to knock a wall down.” He rolled his eyes. “Just because it’s grade one listed.”

 

“Only grade one.” Jim replied, voice softening a little. Suddenly, the world seemed very big, and very scary. In Dublin, a simple student, he’d known nothing and everything, big libraries and bigger books and all the best haunts to find men like himself. He’d known nothing of the world, confined to secrecy about his sexuality, spending his days buried in classwork instead of buried in the world like he longed to be.

 

He gazed out of the window, looking over Kensington. Kensington, London, in the home of Freddie Mercury. Suddenly, the world didn’t seem so small anymore. Suddenly, it was awfully big, and awfully frightening.

 

“Remind me, darling.” Freddie reached into the cupboard, searching for teabags. “I was terribly drunk when you told me last time. How old are you, exactly?”

 

Freddie didn’t even know his name; Lauren slipped off his tongue as lazy and easy as honey from a honeycomb. Nobody said he had to be honest; he could reinvent himself. “I’m twenty.” The lie came so easily, and he was surprised with himself. Maybe it would be easier than he thought to act four years older than he really was.

 

Jim smiled at the way Freddie bit his lip in concentration as he poured water into the mugs. “And when’s your birthday?”

 

“Beginning of January. Just after New Year.” He leaned against the counter. “Why?”

 

“We’ll have to keep this quiet until you’re twenty-one.” He replied easily, as though the revelation didn’t shock Jim to the core. He’d escaped Ireland, the place where his sexuality was punishable by imprisonment, and yet he still had to keep it quiet.

 

Maybe it was to do with Freddie, or maybe it was something bigger.

 

“Why?” Jim’s voice was quiet, more vulnerable; just because he could fool Freddie didn’t mean he could fool the authorities. 

 

“Sexual acts between men are only legal if both parties are over twenty-one.” He held his voice steady, but Jim was somewhat comforted by his obvious contempt. “Seeing as I’m twenty-six, I’ll be prosecuted just for loving you. It’s barbaric, but I don’t particularly fancy prison.”

 

Jim nodded, dumbfounded. Twenty-one was five years away. Every piece of ID would expose them both. “It’s only a few months.” He said, surprised by the strength of his own voice. 

 

“I’m so glad you understand.” Freddie smiled. “Now, darling, sugar and milk?”

 

“Dash of milk, one sugar.” Jim sat himself on the counter, and did his best to train his mind away from the thought of his new interest in chains. “Won’t the milk be sour? You haven’t been home for a while.”

 

“There’s a lovely little lady that looks after the cats while I’m gone. I got her to pick up a few things so we wouldn’t starve.” He smiled over his shoulder as he retrieved sugar from the cupboard. “I make her sound so old. You’ll meet her before long.”

 

“I’m picturing a ninety-year-old woman.” Jim kicked his hip playfully. “Correct me.”

 

“She’s twenty-two, and I used to be engaged to her.” Jim was forever shocked at how Freddie could make the biggest revelations sound so simple. “It’s a long story.”

 

Freddie steered him towards the balcony; although the May air was a little chilly, Jim was warm enough in the jacket that Freddie draped over his shoulders. “We have a long time.” He kissed his cheek, and he swore he saw Freddie blush a little.

 

“Are you sure you’re interested?” He smiled and pecked Jim’s lips. “I promise it’s not the story of debauchery that everyone wants it to be.”

 

“All the better for it.” Jim was enjoying such an earnest conversation together, enjoying crafting his new persona and personality, a whole new character. “I’m sure I’m interested.”

 

_ Lauren. Twenty years old. Hairdresser. Lover of Freddie Mercury. Capricorn. _

 

“I moved to London from Stone Town back when I was sixteen.” He settled comfortably on the couch and opened his arms for Jim, laughing when he saw the perplexed look on his face. “It’s in Zanzibar. Tanzania.” He pushed him playfully. “East Africa. Your geography is terrible.”

 

_ Not my fault,  _ Jim wanted to say.

 

“Anyway, when I moved, being gay was a criminal offence no matter your age, and I was still riding on the hope that it was all some strange, perverted teenage fantasy so that I could grow out of it and be 'normal'.” Jim chuckled at his use of air quotes. “That never happened, anyway. But on one of my first shows with Queen, I met a lovely young woman called Mary Austin, and I thought that maybe I could drown out all of those confused feelings I was having by pretending I was in love with her.”

 

“Fake it 'til you make it.” Jim replied quietly, resting his head against his collarbone. Freddie played absentmindedly with his hair.

 

“Exactly. And I tried so hard to fake it, my darling, but I was an awful boyfriend. I just- I wasn’t happy with her, because she couldn’t satisfy what I wanted. I didn’t love her.” He sighed. “I thought that if we got married, then I’d be forced to love her, and we’d have children and it would all be some twisted proof of my heterosexuality.” He smiled and shook his head. “Except it didn’t work.”

 

“What happened?” Jim asked softly.

 

“I asked her to marry me, and she said yes. I bought her a pretty ring and everything, and she promised that she’d never take it off. My parents were thrilled that I had such a lovely future wife.” He took a long swallow of his tea and Jim closed his eyes. Most of this had happened when he was barely ten. “But I couldn’t stop myself from fooling around with other men. It was fairly harmless to start with- I enjoyed giving and taking blowjobs, y’know, small and simple things.”

 

Jim had never heard someone talk so openly about being gay, and especially not about sex, but it was comfortingly authentic. “I just started wanting more and more. I had these big, burly men fucking me on sinks after shows, and I realised it wasn’t fair to have her waiting at home for me when I didn’t love her and I was constantly looking for something else.”

 

“How did she take it?” Jim’s fingers met Freddie’s and he squeezed lightly. 

 

“Pretty well. I think she had accepted it before I did. I came out with all this crap about being bisexual, and she told me I was gay. It was the first time anyone had ever used that word about me.” His smile turned a little shier. “And she was right. When she said it, it felt right. It felt like being accepted, even if it was in the worst possible circumstance.”

 

“And what happened to her?” Jim sat up a little, met his eyes, and Freddie had never had such an attentive audience before. 

 

“She’s got a lovely husband and a baby on the way, and I bought her a house.” He chuckled. “She lives a few streets away. I’m going to be godfather.” He pressed a kiss to Jim’s forehead. “She found someone that was happy with her, and that made her happy, and I wouldn’t wish her anything else.”

 

“Are you happy now?” Jim asked, voice so naive and earnest that Freddie wanted to kiss him then and there. Instead, he pulled him closer, pressed a kiss to his forehead.

 

“I’m very happy now.” Freddie smiled. “Because I’ve found a gorgeous Irishman who’s totally out of my league that somehow wants to live with me, I’ve got a beautiful goddaughter on the way, and I’ve got a career I could only dream of.” He trailed a thumb over Jim’s cheekbone.

 

“It’s a lesson in being true to yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not promising this is having regular uploads bc fluorescent is my child and obviously my top priority but tonight I wanted to write something different

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you're as excited as I am to dabble your feet into the world of 1975 Jimercury (the one where Freddie is actually famous!). If you are, drop me a comment or a message on tumblr @/immistermercury, and of course leave me some kudos!


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